


What Wounds Time Heal, Time Will Tear Open

by Neko_Airie



Series: Rarities come in Handy [21]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Dark Thoughts, M/M, Not a nice ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neko_Airie/pseuds/Neko_Airie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy and his brother sit in a tavern, watched by a pair of familiar musketeers. Soon it all goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Wounds Time Heal, Time Will Tear Open

**Author's Note:**

> This is dark, I apologise but it is serving as an outlet for some feelings at the moment, stops me from doing what Athos does. As always this is a wonder of a prompt from Selene467. Thanks for keeping me going.

d’Artangan watched his lover from across the tavern, bottle in hand he was just about to bring to the table when he caught sight of the look on his lovers face. In the half light of the candle on the table he could see deep sandiness and a hint of remembered joy. The way the light flickered and played on Athos face d’Artangan could almost imagine that he could see the unknown memories that flickered in his eyes. Following his line of sight he saw the object of Athos inspection.

It was a young man and his daemon. The boy couldn’t have been older than twelve maybe thirteen, his daemon was a small Kestrel sat perched on the table before him. d’Artangan also watched him trying to see what Athos did, the boy was clearly with his older brother. They were laughing and joking with each other, they looked to be from the country; farmers sons. He watched for a little longer and remembered acting as such with his own brother. He smiled sadly and made his way back to the table and his pensive lover.

He set the bottle on the table gently and sat down, Athos was deep in his memories for he made no recognition that he had seen or heard him return. Bijou was sat on Athos shoulder, d’Artangan turned to look at her seeing if she would give him some recognition. He smiled in humour and worry when he was ignored again, he reached out one hand and clasped Athos loose fingers that were on the table. Gently squeezing them he became grateful for their secluded booth in the half shadows in the corner.   
“Where are you my lover?” He asked quietly. Athos didn’t flinch, didn’t start, there was not clear recognition that he had even heard d’Artangan. Except that he spoke.  
“That boy, the small one with the Kestrel. He could be Thomas.” d’Artangan turned back to look closer at the boy, he could see it. Yes he had only seen a portrait of an older Thomas but there was striking similarities. The hair and the eyes, there was something in the boys eyes.   
“He is so close, even the daemon. A kestrel, just like Thomas.” d’Artangan didn’t know how to help, he could hardly tell Athos that his brother was dead and that this was not him. No, he was lost here. 

Athos poured himself another drink and continued to watch the pair of brothers. The candle was soon guttering, its wick low and ending. The tavern was beginning to empty as drunks and sober men alike left of wives and mistresses. Still Athos watched the pair.  
“Athos lets get home. We are on duty tomorrow and you have drank more than your fill.” Athos blinked and took stock of the many empty bottles that d’Artangan had foolishly supplied when asked. He nodded and made to stand swaying dangerously, d’Artangan caught his arm and supported him. A wave of guilt washed over him, he really shouldn’t have let Athos wallow, he shouldn’t have given him the wine, but he looked so deliriously happy in some of the memories. Anumpama stood the other side and pressed her tall body against Athos helping support him. 

They were nearing the door when someone yelled from behind them. d’Artangan briefly let go and turned to see what the cause was; The older brother of the pair was stood horror on his face as a group of ruffians and bandits placed a knife to the younger’s throat.  
“Oi boy. Your Daddy owes us money.” The one wielding the knife spook with a gruff voice. d’Artangan dragged his sword from his belt and began to slowly make his way over to the scene, he could see a few other musketeers that frequented the same tavern also moving over to the scene. He looked to one of the others and was given a nod that confined he should approach and speak.  
“Sir, I will advise you now that you are surrounded you the kings musketeers. Cease your present action and no charges will be brought.” He spoke calmly and with confidence, trying not to think about the scene that Athos would be watching. Not a boy he didn’t know held by a man that was a thug and nothing less. 

The attacker froze and began to shake, clearly he was not as crime hardened as he thought. “Musketeers?” His voice though gravelly held a tone of panic. d’Artangan turned to show the flure-de-lis to the man, he blinked and looked down at the child in his clutches. The little boy feeling the grip slacken on his throat moved quickly; a mistake. The attack gripped tighter by reflex and the dagger shifted only a fraction, but it was enough. The kestrel fell from her perch to the floor shattering into a burst of golden dust.  
“NO!” The scream was drawn out and gut wrenching, d’Artangan turned to look at the older brother, he wasn’t moving just staring. He turned further, it was Athos. His voice was tearing at his throat as he screamed.

He watched his bother die… no not his brother, killed by milady… no not Milady. But it was, it was them, he was watching them again. Watching her kill him, his nightmares they were real. 

d’Artangan ran to Athos, folding him into his embrace. “It’s not them, I promise it’s not them. Listen to me.” He wanted to shake Athos but feared the reaction, feared he would break in his hands. Athos clutched at the leather of his jacket eyes staring horrified at the body on the floor, not really seeing it, seeing Thomas. d’Artangan began to steer Athos from the tavern and away from the scene, not before he pulled the sash from his waist and gently wrapped Bijou in it and placing it before Anu to carry in her teeth like she would a cub

d’Artangan was genuinly worried about Athos state of mind when he laid him down on the bed. He was so still, he would not let go of d’Artangan. It was awkward the way he was sat but it mattered little, Anu gently laid Bijou in his. He unwrapped her and cradled her in his lap making sure he had one arm around Athos and one with his fingers in Bijou’s feathers. Anu jumped on to the bed and fashioned herself as a large breathing comfort blanket, using he tail to wrap around Athos and pressing herself against Athos back. It was cramped and hot but it was comfort and comfort was what was needed. d’Artangan smiled when he felt Athos relax, he had fallen asleep, d’Artangan would stay awake and on watch tonight. He would make sure that Athos slept with out terror.

Athos was surrounded by warmth, he turned slightly and pressed his face into the warmth not wanting to wake up. He felt exhausted, not in body but in emotion. He tried to clear his mind tried to make himself see that it was an old wound that was torn open by something that he had no control over. He couldn’t, he could see the boys daemon fall away to nothing, see him fall to the floor and bleed out. He realised his throat hurt, it must have been him screaming. Hr swallowed hard, he never imagined that seeing someone so close to his brother, seeing someone like that die would make him… so fragile. He saw death everyday, it was his job to deal it out and to stop it. He made the decisions of a god, who would live and who would die, but the people that mattered he had no control over. He wanted his brother back, he wanted him back so badly. He wanted to go back to picking his brother up off the floor when he fell, dusting him down and teaching him to fight with swords. He would give anything to have that back.  
It felt like he had torn a festering wound open over and over again. He just wanted it gone, he wanted time to fall away, for god to turn it back. He wanted to forget. 

The warmth was becoming to much, like a weight that was heavy and suffocating. He wanted to be free, free of every bit of guilt, of every bit of pain. To close his eyes and not see his brother on the floor of his manor house. To not see her when he had nightmares.

“Talk to me…” The words wore quiet, almost an in audible whisper, but they were so loud. Athos flinched harshly at d’Artangans voice. He moved a tiny bit so he could look up at the worried face. “Tell me about Thomas, Tell me about the funny stuff. Tell me about the sad stuff. Tell me something.” He was almost begging, but he would be subject to Athos whims. Athos shook his head, he couldn’t; for years, decades he had suppressed, he had drowned everything he felt about his brother in wine. He could not, would not change. He was Athos and this was his to bare.

d’Artangan wanted to cry, he didn’t, but he wanted to. He had to be the strong one now, Athos had for him and now it would be his turn. He had to accept that Athos was a man that lived with emotions that he would force so deep, that he would drown in wine rather than talk. d’Artangan knew that it would not be easy for a while, he knew that he would be foolish that when Athos asked for bottle after bottle of wine to drown his sorrow he would listen and oblige. He would suffer the guilt and the aftermath just to see some thing that wasn’t despair etched into the rugged features on nights like this. 

They would both pay the price, the pound of flesh and the devils due but they would survive, they would endure to the end. Then only they would remain, together.


End file.
